


(how do you say) bésame

by philthestone



Series: algo en absoluto (before the sunrise) [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, i love these doofuses so much im cryin, timestamp: season three premier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes linger for a moment too long, the kind you can’t just brush off as “oops, spaced out there, sorry Santiago” – can’t brush it off or ignore it the way he’s been brushing off all the other slip-ups he’s had in the past half-hour, staring at her hair and getting distracted by her fingers picking at the couch and wondering if the coffee filters in the microwave are going to explode.</p>
<p>Amy says, “Jake?” in a hesitant voice, and Jake thinks, <em>play it cool, Peralta.</em></p>
<p>“Ikindareallywannakissyourinow,” he blurts.</p>
<p>  <em>Nailed it.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	(how do you say) bésame

**Author's Note:**

> whooo, missing scene from The New Captain
> 
> so. they totally talked for four hours and then made out a little and then fell asleep on the couch.
> 
> I'll post the companion piece as soon as I possibly can, Jake Peralta is hopelessly in love, and the title is from "Sunrise" from the musical In The Heights
> 
> Reviews are stuff blessedly not catching fire in your microwaves

He keeps thinking about how shiny her hair is.

Which is a weird thing to be distracted by – sort of? Maybe. Shiny hair is generally not that odd on the spectrum of butterfly-inducing characteristics of beauty that usually distract romantic heroes. 

Not that Jake is in any way, shape or form a romantic hero. No matter _what_ Charles said that one time, he’s pretty sure that most romantic heroes don’t have two boxes of Lucky Charms (both opened) on their kitchen table, or a third box open in the bedroom closet, or five different mismatched socks scattered under the bed or a cereal bowl perched on the pillow _in_ the bed. The cheap dollar-store shampoo that smells like strawberries is also likely a no, as is the unopened package of coffee filters that he’s just now remembering he stuffed into the microwave that morning in an effort to hide them from sight, because he remembers waking up obscenely early and realizing that Amy Santiago was lying fully-naked beside him and _his kitchen was a disaster zone._

He should probably remove the coffee filters from the microwave before something unwarranted explodes, but Amy’s legs are tucked up under her on the couch and her hair is really shiny and pretty and long and distracting. The low light of his living room is warm and yellow, and Jake thinks that maybe it’s an indication of how late it is and how tired his brain is that he keeps zoning out of what Amy’s saying to look at how her dark hair is spilling over her shoulder. Like, unconscious hair-staring. Or semi-conscious hair-staring. “Hair-staring” rhymes, which makes Jake think that it’s probably not as weird as he initially thought.

Anyway; hair-staring. And Amy Santiago on his couch.

It’s sort of a thing.

Jake gives himself a mental slap and brings his eyes up to look at Amy’s face again. She’s smiling softly, looking at him like she knows something he doesn’t. It's not quite an unfamiliar look, but something about it makes his breath catch in a weird way, stuttering in his chest. The corners of her mouth are just slightly dimpling, and the flush that’s been prettying her cheeks since she showed up at his door still hasn’t quite dissipated; her dark hair is tucked back behind both ears, hanging down thick and glossy over her shoulders.

She stopped talking, Jake realizes. And he was zoned out. _Crap_.

“Um,” says Jake. “I was just –”

“You’re exhausted,” Amy says, still smiling at him will that small, almost-secretive smile. It’s not at all an accusation, but there’s the end of a laugh colouring the inside of her words. 

“No,” says Jake, and it _is_ true. He realizes that after everything that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours he has every reason to say, _yeah, sure_ ; but he’s not exhausted, not quite. Not in a way that would mean he doesn’t want to be sitting and talking to Amy on his couch at one in the morning while she tucks her legs under her and rubs her bare arm with her other hand, because she’s only wearing a plain t-shirt and it’s a little cold in his apartment and he can’t remember if he ever ended up paying the heating bill for this month. Because he does want to do that, right now. Sitting beside Amy, he means - not paying the heating bill. Forever, maybe, but he doesn’t really think now is the time to tell Amy that; when she first showed up, four hours ago, there was still a strain of anxiety in her voice that makes him think telling her that he’s maybe-sort-of in love with her isn’t a good plan. At this point in time. Right now.

Amy raises an eyebrow at his response and leans her head against the couch. She smiles again, the type where maybe she’s a little tired too but she’s _happy_ , sitting there on his couch past midnight in a t-shirt and jeans and talking to him about how Holt is gone, and how maybe things are a little weird but they can make it through work tomorrow, if they try really hard. About how Charles told her earlier that Rosa kept dunking her Dozerpad in coffee, how there's a new bodega set up beside her apartment, and how she was sitting at home thinking about how much she needed to hear his voice.

She leans her head against the couch and smiles, and Jake’s heart does this funny little skip, like it’s forgotten how to walk properly and tripped on the sidewalk. He doesn’t mean to look at her lips, but she _is_ smiling, and –

His eyes linger for a moment too long, the kind you can’t just brush off as “oops, spaced out there, sorry Santiago” – can’t brush it off or ignore it the way he’s been brushing off all the other slip-ups he’s had in the past half-hour, staring at her hair and getting distracted by her fingers picking at the couch and wondering if the coffee filters in the microwave are going to explode.

Amy says, “Jake?” in a hesitant voice, and Jake thinks, _play it cool, Peralta._

“Ikindareallywannakissyourinow,” he blurts.

_Nailed it._

Amy blinks at him.

“If, if that’s okay,” says Jake, and feels something in his midriff area suddenly decide to weigh a zillion pounds more than it should and swan-dive down to his ‘nads. Though, he thinks, it’s not really his midriff’s fault. They’re both shockingly not-drunk and this isn’t _light and breezy_ anymore, and Amy’s _looking_ at him, her caramel cheeks still flush with the high stakes of eight pm and her lips parted ever so slightly in surprise - and they’re the kind of lips that he’d describe as rosebud if he was twenty times more lame and also Charles - and he thinks his heart might dive out of his chest _right there onto the couch_ because of how weird and hard and fast it’s started beating.

Which is a really dumb sentiment, but no one told Jake’s heart that, apparently.

“Your heart might dive out of your chest?” Amy says, and _oh my God_ , this incredible flush is blooming over her cheeks, an –

“I said that out loud,” Jake realizes. “Um. Haha. Yes. Well.”

“Jake,” says Amy.

“I,” says Jake, trying to formulate the words in his mouth without blurting something really stupid like _I got distracted by your hair_ , or really inappropriate like _I’ve been in love with you for like a year and a half_. “I mean, clearly, this relationship – this, this thing, okay, it’s super – um, deep? And, and important – wait, no. _Nope_ , that was too strong, pretend I never said that – like – or maybe if _you’re_ okay with – but you’re – _you_ , so I thought – I’m just – I keep thinking about kissing you because your hair was really distracting and shiny and I –”

“Jake,” says Amy.

“Can I kiss you?” he hears himself ask, the words a lot breathier than he intended, glossy Santiago Hair be damned. Jake thinks maybe his voice is an octave higher than it’s supposed to be and he sort of hates how it’s doing that to him right now.

“ _Jake_ ,” says Amy for a third time, and Jake is in the middle of going through a mental checklist of ways he’s going to get back at his voice for such blatant and uncalled for betrayal when she leans over and kisses him.

Her lips are soft and warm and gentle, which he feels like he should have expected; when Amy’s not being a total badass and taking down perps, or spouting off police codes like the nerd that she is, she’s always – she always _looks_ so soft, all warm curves and round cheeks and small nose under the perfectly pleated, ironed pantsuits and impeccable posture. He can feel his breath catching in his chest again, the couch cushions dipping under him as Amy shifts her knees and shuffles closer across the threadbare upholstery. Her jean-covered leg presses against his, both hands sliding up against his chest to cup his face, and Jake remembers that his hands are still motionless in his lap so he brings them up to press against Amy’s waist, palms brushing against the white t-shirt. It’s soft, too, and it feels _clean_ , if that’s even possible – like she pulled it out of a fresh new load of laundry right before she came over, like citrus laundry detergent and those fancy band name dryer sheets that Gina told him he can’t afford anymore and he never bought in the first place. Amy’s hair slips out from behind her ear and tickles his cheek; it smells like vanilla and something that Jake thinks might be pears, if he remembers what pears smelled like from the one he had two years ago at Terry’s house. 

Amy Santiago is kissing him on his living room couch at one in the morning and her hair smells like pears, and it’s not light or breezy and they’re _definitely_ sober and Jake thinks that if he were to die right at that second, he would die a happy man.

“Stop _talking_ ,” Amy tells him, but she’s almost giggling against his lips and he thinks that maybe she’s blushing a little bit again; her face is close enough to his that he sees the flutter of her eyelashes as her eyes flick down, and feels the heat of her cheeks against his. Her short fingernails are curling in at the base of his neck under his short hair, and Jake doesn’t care that his brain to mouth filter has taken holiday or that his heart is trying to dive out of his chest, anymore, or even that there’s a packet of coffee filters in his microwave that might explode if the microwave was ever influenced by aliens and turned on by itself.

Jake feels his own lips tug into a grin and he leans forward, his hands tightening against her waist, and kisses Amy Santiago back.


End file.
